


We're taking each others' names!

by notcheddar



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, won't apologize for my dumb sitcom setup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcheddar/pseuds/notcheddar
Summary: Jake and Amy open their wedding gifts."Amy, how many columns are in this spreadsheet?"





	We're taking each others' names!

"Okay, this one is from Aunt Patty."

"Would you say this wrapping paper is cerulean blue or more of an ultramarine?"

"What?"

"You know what, I'm being silly. It's cerulean."

Jake stares at Amy, his mouth slightly agape and one eyebrow raised, as she taps rapidly at her laptop.

"I think this is going to have to be one of those things that I let go," Jake says, giving the package a firm shake. "I'm going to say... shot glasses."

"Jake, your Aunt Patty is 82 and swatted me on Rosh Hashanah when I said 'darn.' I don't think she got us shot glasses for our wedding."

"Oh? Let's just see." Jake rips open the wrapping paper and feels Amy's leg flinch against his. "Oops, sorry babe, did I get you?"

Amy grimaces. "No, no, it's fine." She pats his hand. "It's just that we could have saved that wrapping paper."

Jake stares blankly at his wife.

"Okay, fine, this is going to have to be one of those things that I let go," Amy acquieses. She picks up a shoebox from next to the couch and delicately peels off the label, "Wrapping Paper: Reuse." When she finishes, she looks up to see Jake triumphantly holding two shot glasses above his head, with "Jake + Amy" enveloped by a heart etched into the sides. "What the heck?" she exclaims.

"Language, Amy! What would Aunt Patty say? You see, even though she may be a stickler sometimes, Patty really knows how to throw down."

"She doesn't know what shot glasses are for, does she?"

"Nope. Insists they're for tea."

"Okay, so that's two custom etched shot glasses with our first names, slight blue tint, a standard two inches tall and 1.5 inches in diameter. Can you check the box and tell me where they were manufactured?"

"... manufactured? Amy, how many columns are in this spreadsheet?"

Amy's eyes grow wide. "Not too many." Jake leans into her lap as she pulls the laptop away, keeping it just out of his arm's reach. "It's important to have detailed notes for when we write our thank you cards!" she shouts. She scoots away from him, but he pins her against the back of the couch with his hip and snatches the laptop. "We're going to be glad we took such detailed notes when we're reminiscing in 30 years!" she says, increasingly frazzled, as he brings the screen to his face.

"26 columns?!"

"When we're old and have dementia those details are going to bring us right back."

"Packaged and unpackaged weight? Is that why the bathroom scale is out here?"

"... and the food scale."

Jake sits up, letting Amy wriggle loose and grab back the laptop. He grins. "I can't tell if I'm horrified or aroused." Amy blushes. "Actually, it's both. Definitely both."

"Okay, so can we keep going?"

"Yes, we can keep going." Jake picks up the shot glasses again.

"Does it contain chemicals known in the state of California to cause cancer?"

"Oh my god, I'm calling the police."

"Very funny," Amy says. Jake is already holding his phone out in front of his face. It rings once before it picks up.

"Hey buddy!" Jake says, chipperly.

Charles's frenzied voice comes tumbling out of the speakerphone. "Jake! How was your honeymoon? I saw that it was a beautiful 72 degrees and sunny every day, except for Tuesday, which had a light drizzle. Did you like the outdoor shower in your hotel room? Did you wash each others' hair? Did you make sweet tender love in the morning and the afternoon and at night? Are we going to have a little baby Jake squeezing through Amy's cervix in 9 months? Did you-"

Jake and Amy shout in unison, "Bye Charles!" as Jake hangs up and throws his phone across the room.

"Why did you tell him about the outdoor shower?" Amy asks.

"I didn't."

Amy shudders, and Jake stares towards the phone in horror.

"So there's no way out of this. Okay, then, babe, spreadsheet all over me!"

"Ew."

"Yup, sounded better in my head."

"Let's just move onto the next one."

Jake drags a large, floral-wrapped box towards himself across the coffee table. "This one is from Rosa. Under 'weight' you can put 'super heavy.'" Amy taps away at her laptop. "It's probably safer for all parties involved if I don't shake this one, so my detective skills are going to be hindered here. I'm gonna say... dumbbells."

Amy stops typing for a moment to squint at the box. "Knives."

Jake undoes the elegant bow and rips away the wrapping paper to reveal a cardboard box showing a woman doing bicep curls. "Babe, clearly you've lost your detective's touch during your time as sargeant."

"Open the box, Jake."

"Ah, you want to see our new dumbbells?" he asks, grinning at her. Jake rips the tape off. "All right, let's see our" - he peers into the box - "knives it's a box of knives just chock full of knives."

Amy smirks, entering the data in her spreadsheet.

"How did you know?" Jake asks.

"Well, you see, my dear Peralta-Santiago, the tape on the top of the box didn't match the tape on the bottom of the box. The sides were slightly depressed, indicating that the original styrofoam padding normally found in a box of dumbbells was missing, so it clearly was something that didn't belong in there. As you were shifting the box I could tell from the frequency and amplitude at which it was wobbling that it contained a jumble of flat, oblong objects. Finally, the ends on the bow are clean-shorn and neatly curled, while the wrapping paper has feathered edges, the kind you would see on a piece of paper that was creased and hand-ripped, indicating that Rosa used a sharp object to make the bow first, then packed it away in the box and had nothing with which to cut her wrapping paper. Hence, the only logical conclusion is knives."

Jake is hugging his knees against his chest and rocking side-to-side. "You're my dream girl."

"Also, Rosa told me she was getting us knives."

"Damn it, Santiago!"

"Santiago-Peralta."

Jake smiles sheepishly. "This next one is from Terry." He tosses the soft, linen-wrapped package into the air. "Classy as heck. Very Terry."

"It's definitely towels."

"Agreed." Jake unties the cloth ribbon and tosses away the linen wrappings, revealing two plush, embroidered towels. "Aww," he coos. "They'll match my one gray towel!"

"I thought you threw away your one gray towel."

"Yup. I threw it out. It's in the landfill now, where it belongs, with the other trash, not tucked into the back of my half of the closet. Rest in peace, buddy, one gray towel, which is not in this apartment."

"I'm finding that towel later."

"That's fine, because we have two fresh new ones! Look, they're even monogrammed."

"Oh no, Jake, I think Terry made a mistake. Look - AP and JS."

Jake turns over the towels to see the three-inch-tall, deep blue letters. "Nah, they're labeled for their intended usage. This one we're supposed to use for Ass Pats and the other one we'll use for Junk Swipes."

"They're both for your crotch?" Amy says, doubtfully.

"What can I say? Terry just wants to make sure our crevices are dry."

"That's definitely not what's going on here."

"All right, this one is from Charles!" Jake shouts, hopping onto the couch with a hefty yellow box in his hands. "Feels like it's about 40 pounds. Maybe a cast iron skillet?"

Amy is still studying the towels. "Jake, do you know how much a pound is?"

"You're right. That's too light for a cast iron skillet." He tears off the card and tosses it into Amy's lap, then rips the wrapping paper away. He picks a knife out of Rosa's knife box and starts working on the tape.

Amy reads the card. "My dearest Jake and Amy, my two best friends in the whole wide world, the greatest couple to have ever lived, whose love will shine forever into the stars as a beacon of hope into the dark universe -" Amy lifts her nose out of the card. "It keeps going like this for a while... wash each others' hair... have many babies... okay, here. 'I hope you enjoy this molcajete, in which you can smash up guacamole the same way you smash your -' yup that's enough." Amy tosses the card on the table and notices that Jake is holding the heavy stone bowl and wearing an expression halfway between panic and confusion.

"Uh, Ames, I think I figured out who AP and JS are."

He turns the molcajete around to reveal two names carved into the side, embossed in gold, and surrounded by an ornate heart adorned with flowers. Amy laughs. "Amy Peralta and Jake Santiago? Is this a joke?"

"I'm afraid not, Ass Pat."

"Junk Swipe, why do Terry and Charles think we traded last names?"

"I don't know. I guess we should call -"

"DO NOT CALL BOYLE," Amy shouts, holding Jake by the shoulders.

" - Terry. Obviously." The phone rings three times.

"Hey Jake!" Terry's voice comes in chipper over the speakerphone. "What's up?"

"Hey Terry! We were just opening our wedding gifts. We love the towels."

"They're terrific," Amy chimes in.

"Oh great! They're terry cloth."

Jake snickers. Amy rolls her eyes, trying not to laugh.

"That's brilliant, Terry," Jake says. "Just a quick question, though - what's with the monograms? AP and JS?"

There is a long silence on the other end. "Oh no," Terry says quietly. "You said you were taking each other's names..." Terry drifts off.

Amy tilts her head at Jake and lifts an eyebrow. "That means we're hyphenating," Jake says, suppressing a giggle. "Did you think we were trading names?"

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to Scully."

Amy pipes in. "Scully? Wait, Terry, how many people think we traded names?"

"Well, there's me and Charles, Scully and of course Hitchcock, Rosa, Gina, Holt, Terri with an I... okay, the whole precinct."

"And nobody questioned why we would completely trade names?" Amy asks.

"I may have been very passionate about defending the arrangement in the spirit of feminism."

"Terry, that's not feminist, that's just crazy."

"In hindsight I see that. Sorry I ruined your presents, guys."

Amy softens. "No, Terry, we're not actually mad."

Jake snickers. "This is everything I could have hoped for. It's totally distracted her from her 26-column spreadsheet."

"26 columns?!"

"Okay bye Terry thanks for the towels!" Amy shouts into the phone and hangs up. She makes a few taps onto her keyboard and takes a look at her grinning husband.

"We're going to need a bigger spreadsheet."


End file.
